The Weakest Link
by IronGnome
Summary: A short, one-off detailing my imagining of Revan and Malak's clash aboard the former's flagship that resulted in the iconic cybernetic jaw of Malak. (Reviews/criticisms are encouraged and, providing they're constructive, warmly accepted - lore is subject to creative license here, though I've tried to be faithful to what I've come across)


**The power of the dark side came from its ruthlessness. The power of the dark side came from its aggression. The power came from within. Raw and unmatched, a warrior accustomed to the dark side of the force was superior to all but the Sith who stood above them. And yet we were only as strong as our weakest link allowed us to be.**

* * *

"Sir, I am ordered to report the success of diplomatic intervention with the Selkath concerning the availability of Kolto towards our cause."

If I didn't know better, I'd have identified him as a boy: a boy with a chin sparsely populated by black whiskers and curious golden eyes, like the sands of Tattooine. Yet I did know better, which was more than could be said for the fools who raised a hand against him, thinking him as young as his appearance suggested. His mastery of his blaster pistol was something to behold: the product of natural talent and dedicated training, and the instinctive reflexes that governed its application were impressive, even to me. Of course, if I willed it, his hands would be locked to his sides and the blaster would become nothing but a weight on his right thigh while he struggled to gasp for air. That, to me, was the beauty of power. I could kill him if I wanted to, yet usually he gave me ample reason not to, which I why I was surprised when he offered me such an unimportant and disinteresting fragment of information.

I took a moment to gift him my attention, though his patience exceeded many and he waited patiently at the door to my quarters. Turning my head over my left shoulder I raised a brow of condescending challenge.

"Why is it that you determine such a trivial event to be of note?"

He paused, perhaps to consider his reply. Wise move.

"Lord Revan sent the message through sir. He believed you would be pleased to hear of such a success, despite its nature."

I returned to my previous position, while running a hand across the left tattoo of my scalp. As my hand reached the back of my head, I motioned towards him with a simple gesture.

"Enter."

And then, a flick of my right hand to summon a seat.

"Sit."

He did so, and though he was by no means comfortable, he showed no hesitation to do as commanded. I turned on the base of my chair and studied him through grey lenses.

"Of course he did. I'm sure he's overwhelmed his little plan succeeded. Revan always was the public speaker of the two of us; always the inspirational one." _The one they remembered. The one they knew of. The one they had once celebrated, and now the one they feared. Malak held little meaning to them. Soon, that would all change._

He shifted uncomfortably opposite me, unsure of what to say. So I gave him direction.

"Our Lord Revan" I said, in my consistent, dry tone, "What do you make of him?"

His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes flickered, breaking his gaze in my direction.

"I believe him to be a strong and capable leader, worthy of his title. He is powerful, calculating and absolute. I have no qualms, if that's what you mean, with him leading our forces. Yet, some say you sir, are stronger."

His words sparked a thought, one which was often visited but previously had only ever been a private one. If others thought me as superior, then it wasn't just my imagination that determined Revan to be _weak_. His way was not the Sith way and there is no such room in this establishment for variation or negligence towards our cause.

"Make yourself of use once again; Tell Revan I wish to see him, promptly, and prepare a personal transport ship in the hanger. I'll be down shortly."

I watched him silently as he made a mental note of each task before dismissing him with a subtle nod.

"You may exit."

* * *

I stood on the bridge of my flagship, or what I liked to think of as the keystone to the Imperial Armada. The past year had seen the prowess of the Imperial military displayed, at the cost of Telos IV. On one hand, we clearly asserted our possession of weaponry that vast exceeded the capabilities of the Galactic Republic; the razing of the planet was more than enough to confirm as such. Yet the heavier hand was weighted with the lives of those who were essentially innocent. _They_ had not provoked the Empire: their governing body had. But could the millions who lay dead truly be accountable for the words of a few. As always, Malak did not care for the collateral damage that entailed the bombardment. He was only concerned with the fearsome reputation the event would grant him, and by extension, the Imperial fleet.

"My Lord. Darth Malak requests your audience."

The voice interrupted my thoughts, thoughts that were far from where I stood.

"Transfer him to holocron channel 2" I replied. Channel 1 was always reserved for the emergency frequency. 2 was therefore, only fitting, for if Malak had an emergency, he'd already be personally attending to it rather than seeking my aid.

The voice hesitated, and the distinct sound of a throat clearing itself came from behind me.

"He, sir, requests your audience…in person. He is travelling from his own vessel and will arrive in a matter of minutes."

This caught my attention, and immediately begged the question as to why.

"Very well" I said calmly, "Send him to the conference room. "

I paused before adding "Number 3".

There was no significance to specifying the designated room to meet with Malak, other than that I enjoyed the view into space from the starboard side. After ensuring the flagships pilots knew I was to be absent, I made my way swiftly from the bridge to my destination, all the while mulling over Malak's motivation to see me in person. What did he have to say which couldn't be communicated across the holonet?

The messenger was not lying. Not that I expected them to. Malak's stature blotted out the bright, almost dazzling light from the hallway, mere minutes after I arrived. He stepped inside and the door slid shut behind him, clicking into place and returning the environment to its usual state. I'd kept the room as I found it, with only the mellow hue of blue light panels to cast any sort of visibility in the room, for I did not require much to see the stars. They held such wonder, such mystery, those stars we were yet to identify, contact, explore…conquer.

"You requested me?" I asked to the window in front of me, though I couldn't have been addressing anyone else.

"Surprised, are we?"

His voice was colder than mine by nature. It always had been. If I hadn't known him for the years we'd shared together, I would have felt as though I was being pierced by a thin blade. His standard tone demanded attention, as opposed to earning it by polite request, yet it was even sharper than usual on this particular occasion.

"Somewhat, though I'm tending towards confusion and uncertainty. May I ask why? Or what? What was so important and secretive it couldn't be uttered in the confidence of my own bridge personnel?"

He laughed that steady, guttural laugh that was so very much a defining feature of my apprentice.

"Uncertainty is a weakness old friend. Confusion leads to disorder and disorder is chaos. And chaos is the last thing the Empire strives for. I question whether or not you're still fit to lead such a force as this into battle in such a state."

Despite the circumstances, I couldn't help but smile. It wasn't a smile of great joy, or a grin of knowledge yet unknown to Malak. It was one of basic amusement. For as brutally effective as he was, Malak possessed very little in terms of a strategic head, which is strangely why I took the title of Master to him; he still had much to learn.

"And how exactly do you intend to take such a mantle from me, _old friend_? I have no intention of simply handing it over to you and settling as your subordinate. There is a reason I employ you as the practitioner of my strategies upon the battlefield: You never fail. But it is because of my tactics, that your reputation grows beside mine, with every crushing of a resistance, every city we conquer, every ship we blast out of orbit. I achieved this. And you helped me, undoubtedly. This is how it has always been, ever since we were young. So, what will it be?

He remained silent, pacing lightly behind me. I continued observing the stars, and had no intention of turning to face him. I expected him to soon thereafter make an exit and return to his own ship. He did not, however, and continued to walk a few paces back and forth on the other side of the room. That was the only sound, the rhythmic clap of his boots against the floor, up until the moment his rhythm changed. A slight pause, and then it gradually became louder, as though he was approaching me. The few seconds of difference ultimately amounted to the unmistakable sound of his lightsaber being drawn. And so I retaliated.

Turning almost instantly to face him, I knocked him away with a force push, before drawing my own lightsaber. Both were red, as was Sith tradition, though Malak's was longer: a feature of his own personal design, yet it would be of no aid against a superior duelist.

He leapt back within moments, his saber standing tall above his head, only to graze its way across the ceiling before he brought its down upon me. A heavy blow, and one I had underestimated in terms of its delivery. I'd managed to parry it aside, though it took the aid of the force to throw him off balance.

He was strong, drawing off all that rage that had knotted itself up inside of him. The self-diagnosed injustice of my position in comparison to his skill, though wrongfully trusted, was the fuel of his passion. And with it, he delivered a flurry of slashes, as though he wielded a hammer instead of a blade. In terms of raw strength, I have doubts as to whether I could have bested him then, for his lightsaber alone was his most powerful medium of violence. It would take more time for his force manipulation to equal my own ability, which gave me an upper hand, and one which I exploited at every opportunity. When he would halt to gather breath, I would use my window of opportunity to send him back meters, usually unbalancing him in the process. Though his rage multiplied through frustration and impatience, my own power had collected, and manifested itself in jolting shocks of lightning, used to supress Malak's advances. He soon found himself on the backfoot, which I pressed with further use of the force, and employment of vicious saber throws. While Malak was a worthy adversary up close and personal, a short distance between us allowed me to, oddly, close him down. His ability was greatest when he stopped his opponent from attacking, and at that, he was failing. The hilt of my saber returned to my hand in its reverse grip, and it was one I didn't seek to correct. The fates called for my proper offensive.

I leapt without warning as he raised himself back to his feet, and instead of an overhead strike like he favoured, I employed my unorthodox holding of my saber to strike across knocking his lightsaber away to the side. He brought it around and the blades clashed together between us, their distinctive sounds hissing as he jostled for advantage. Perhaps he sensed defeat, or perhaps I'd become stronger with the anger of his attempted betrayal, but his domain seemed to slowly slip away from him. The fury in his eyes and the alterations the dark side cast upon his features seemed to fracture in its resolve for just a moment, and then his stance faltered. His saber gave way, and mine was allowed to slash across his person. I expected little of it, and prepared myself for a flurry of retaliating strikes yet none came.

He stumbled backwards, groaning in agony with both hands clutched to his face, his saber now withdrawn and cast aside. I tensed, expecting it to be at attempt at lulling me into lowering my guard but Malak fell down to the metallic floor, and screamed not in aggressive anger, but in unmatched pain. Crimson coated his hands, a darker shade than that of my saber, before I sheathed it and looked over him. The yellow fury in his eyes glowed now like a fading sun, but he couldn't bring himself to channel it, even as it abandoned him; the rage was ebbing from him like the blood from his wound.

"This is Revan to Bridge."

"My Lord?"

"Get me a medical droid to conference room 3 immediately. Bring Kolto."


End file.
